Darndest things
Random stuff from the brilliance that is Tater.
Scene: Watching Spiderman save MJ.
Tater: Can she say thank you?
Me: What?
Tater:She has to say thank you for Spiderman because he saved her.
Scene: Tater & Papa sitting in Daddy’s chair.
Tater:Papa – lemmee see your belly.
Papa: [lifts shirt] Okay.
Tater: I like that big belly. It got hair on it.
Papa & Me: BWAAHAHAHA!
No particular scene.
Tater: My teeth don’t come out.
Me: No, they don’t.
Tater: Only Papa’s teeth come out?
Me: Yes, only Papa’s teeth come out.
Tater:And Grammy’s?
The two faces of Tater
Our weekend can be nicely summed up with the following pictures and their captions. How was your Memorial Day?
I’m the sweetest thang that you ever did see!
Burst into flames, burst into flames!
Intelligence = idiocy?
In the last three years, each time Tater was sick enough to throw up, it has always happened in the middle of the night. Friday at 3:00 in the morning was no exception. He woke up vomiting and continued to do so until almost noon. When he began coughing, gagging and vomiting up what seemed like gallons of mucus, Daddy was smart enough to call the doctor.
We took him in for the second time in a week and this time, he got to see his regular doctor. She completely contradicted what we were told last week by stating that the cough was due to his asthma, not a cold, and that his medication needs to be increased. She then all but put money on the fact that the ear, nose & throat doctor Tater is scheduled to see next week will insist on removing his tonsils.
So the doctor wrote a prescription for two inhalers a month, increasing his dose from four puffs a day to eight. Our regular pharmacy was out of the medication and his current inhaler was almost empty. We went to another pharmacy and were hit with news that shocked us and most certainly should have been something his doctor at least mentioned.
It seems the amount of Flovent she prescribed was EIGHT TIMES the normal dosage…for an adult. The very southern pharmacist made sure to repeat this ad naseum. In the end, we walked out without the medication because he “didn’t feel comftable givin’ that much medicaaashun to a chiiiild.”
We went to another pharmacy to get a second opinion and the pharmacist there knew right away which pharmacy had given us the brush off, without even a hint from us (hello, red flag!). This pharmacist conceded that yes, the dosage was high, but the possible side effects of this dosage would be way less detrimental to Tater’s health than the side effects of not breathing.
My question is…if he really has asthma, why isn’t asthma medication helping? Not even a little? Why are we continuing to increase the dosage of his asthma medication without at least considering what else could be causing his symptoms? Well, we are now.
On Wednesday, he sees the ENT doctor who will almost undoubtedly insist on removing his tonsils. We are hoping that this will provide at least some relief. We believe it might, because currently his left tonsil is so big that it takes up more than half his throat (can you say gag reflex?). If it doesn’t help, we’ll get a third opinion and a fourth and a fifth…until someone actually helps him.
It’s unfathomable to me that with all the advances in modern medicine, they still really don’t know anything.
Always only you
Dear Babers -
There are many things I don’t remember about our first date, five years ago today. I don’t remember what the weather was like. I don’t remember what either of us were wearing. I don’t remember what we talked about. I don’t remember the song we danced to. I don’t remember what we ate or drank.
Over the last five years, I’ve come to realize that the circumstantial details of that night are not nearly as important as what I do remember.
I remember the anticipation as I walked in and saw you waiting for me. I remember the butterflies in my stomach when you saw me and smiled. I remember, oh how I remember, the “zsa zsa zsu” I felt when you brushed your hand against mine. I remember the strength of your hand on the small of my back. I remember the warmth of your lips during our first kiss. But most of all, I remember the laughter.
The laughter that’s gotten us through these first five years. The laughter that will carry us through the next fifty years. And today, I want to thank you…for the laughter and the love…and the memories that will never fade.
Submission to Architectual Digest
Auntie Jill is a little pre-occupied for the time being but I know she would be so proud of Tater’s latest achievement. I don’t know why or how or… why, but he created this little Structure O’ Shoes on Sunday evening. He was so proud of it that he made us promise to leave it alone until Grammy came over so she could see it. When Daddy suggested we take some pictures of this accomplishment, Tater was thrilled and insisted he be in the pictures as well.
Before you get any ideas, yes…the design is copyrighted!
Parenting at its finest
I have no words
This is beyond my comprehension. And what’s more: the child had injuries indicating other attacks.
A two-month old has injuries indicating other attacks? Are you kidding me? The baby is TWO MONTHS OLD! How does someone attack a baby? How? Oh, right…because the baby’s mother was idiotic enough to allow the father, with his criminal background that includes battery and violation of a protection order AGAINST HER, to be alone with her child. That’s how. And all he’s being charged with is injury to a child? That should be the mother’s charge and the father should be charged, at the very least, with attempted murder. Even then it wouldn’t be justice.
What do you know, I guess I did have some words. Sick fuck seems to sum it up nicely.
Shout out
HAPPY 17th BIRTHDAY UNCLE CODY!!
We love you and miss you very much! And we’re so glad you have a lot less hair now than you did in this picture. Remember this?
Hey Jen…how old does it make you feel that our little ”W” is SEVEN-FRICKIN-TEEN?!?!
Attitude is everything
And so it begins. There is a definite shift happening in the terribleness of Tater’s Terrible Two’s (catchy little title, ain’t it?). He’s shifting from simply whining and crying when he doesn’t get his way to copping a very distinctive attitude, even when he does get his way. Several times he has responded to my response to his demands with a very flippant “thanks”. As if what he’s really saying is “The only thing stopping me from pouring my own damn milk is the fact that your dumb ass stores the cups where I can’t reach them so thanks for nothing, beeyotch.”
He also seems to think that Dick and I were put on this earth to do nothing other than serve him. I want my blanket, go get it for me. No, if you want your blanket, you need to go get your blanket. NOOOOO! YOU GO GET MY BLANKET RIGHT NOW! AND PUT THE CHAIR UP! AND TURN ON BACKYARDIGANS! Hmmm, let me get right on that your majesty.
The best part about this new-found attitude is when he corrects me. Case in point, the other day we were chatting with Auntie Fren, using the webcams and I told Tater that Auntie Fren misses him. His eyes pierced me with the heat of a thousand suns and he said NO! AUNTIE RENFRO MISSES ME! Then, the little effer actually scoffed at me. My nearly-three-year old. Scoffed. At me. Scoffed. Between that and the very valley girl way he clicks his tongue every time he pauses in a conversation, I would think his damn teens have started already.
I need another epidural.
What was I thinking?
“Fucking crackheads and whores gotta ruin EVERYTHING!”
I can’t believe I deleted him from my favorites because I thought he was getting boring.
